


(Let's Start A) Riot

by greenalms



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Arson, Assault, Breaking and Entering, Fighting, Hooliganism, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Riot Police Tactics, Rioting, Theft, Underage Drinking, Vandalism, larceny, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenalms/pseuds/greenalms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a meetup gone wrong. The day had started out so peacefully. Students and community members all celebrating together. No one knew who broke the first window. Or threw the first stone at the police. Or started the first of the trash fires that line the streets.</p><p>Suddenly there's people everywhere, some fighters, some fleers, most still partying among the chaos and crime, and I found myself alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Let's Start A) Riot

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something small, and for some reason, I decided to get Marco lost in a riot.
> 
> Felonies everywhere! The one that earns it the explicit non-con tag is only a minor part, but it's there so it's tagged.

I yelped as a shirtless student jumped in front of me with a derisive laugh and a whoop of rebellion. Reeking with the smell of whiskey and beer, he pulled out his iPhone from his shorts pocket, turned me around, and snapped a picture in front of the crackling embers still spurting from the nearest trash can.

"Gonna be famous now, buddy!" he said, clapping me on the shoulder twice before running off to join his group of drunken companions. I stayed close to the walls, trying not to garner any more attention as I approached the main crowd. Fame wasn't exactly what I was hoping for tonight, I thought, sighing with resignment at the police sirens wailing in the distance. The quiet looming on the abandoned, half-demolished Shiganshina Avenue was just offset by the sheer size and noise of the crowd ahead. It occurred to me that this wasn't one of the most brilliant ideas I'd ever had, but if I wanted to have any hope of finding my friends again, this was more or less my only option. I stepped over some broken glass from a shop window that had been ransacked earlier in the afternoon. There were some people inside, bent over the counter. One of them glanced up and saw me, pointing down at a line of white on the glass.

"Want some?" she asked. I shook my head no and hurried away. The roar of the main crowd grew larger with each step, and with it, my heart beat faster. I passed a burning car and skirted into an alleyway, seeing people on the other side. I steadied my breathing, telling myself that if I couldn't find my friends in thirty minutes, then I'd go back to the university and wait them out. Steeling my racing nerves, I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and stepped out onto Trost Street.

It was like stepping into another world. The whole street was lit up in the setting sun, despite the city's power having blown out around three. Cars, buildings, trash cans were all set ablaze on the main road. Buses were overturned at stoplights, and there were people atop them. Someone had managed to get the stereo system in an overturned vehicle to work and they were blaring the loudest party mix they could find. A whole crowd was dancing atop the bus, and all around it. Someone threw a stone into the window of the building next to me and a small band of people nearby screamed and charged the place. I cried out as I was rammed into the wall. My hand was pushed against the shattered edges of the window. I felt the sharp burn of the skin being sliced open, and I shoved the ransackers out of the way, getting swept up into the horde.

 _Keep moving,_ I told myself. _Just keep moving and you'll be fine._ They always said that the key to surviving large crowds was to stick your elbows out and let the crowd carry you along. Considering a fight broke out not ten feet away from me almost immediately, I decided on keeping my elbows to myself, but I refused to stay standing still for more than a few seconds. It seemed like being stranded in the ocean, the way everyone was constantly in motion, swaying through the throngs of people and carrying others along in tides and surges. I suddenly realized that I had no idea where I was anymore, and I had absolutely no control over where my body was going. I started to panic. I tried to fight back against the crowd, but somehow this only drew me closer to the vast center. This was a mistake. This was probably the biggest mistake I'd ever made in my life. I needed to get out of here, get back to the university and lock myself in my dorm.

My jacket got caught on someone else's flailing and I was suddenly pulled into the group of people dancing around the bus. There were a few small fires at the base of the vehicle and everyone was screaming so loudly it competed with the heavy bass of the music. Within thirty seconds, a girl I didn't recognize, but who was wearing a jersey that belonged to my school, draped herself over me and wrapping her leg around my hip, rolling herself into me. I froze up, not sure what to do. She was holding a can of beer in her free hand and held it to my lips, tipping some of the beverage into my mouth. She laughed when I spluttered over it and did it again. My first beer. It was disgusting. I swallowed it and she released me, turning to another, taller guy who looked far too old for her for another drink.

I turned away from her, hoping to disappear again before she could inebriate me further. It worked, but now I was right on the edge of the group, close to the fires. I tried to dance my way back in, away from the heat. My jacket was too hot for this space, but if I took it off, I wouldn't be getting it back. Somehow, I was pushed even closer to the flames, and found yet another drink in my hand. In trying for the third time. The can splashed down my front. With a sound of disgust, I tried to wipe it dry, and figured I might as well drink the rest of it before I spilled on someone else and got my face broken as a result. I wasn't prepared for drinking. I just hoped my tolerance was higher than I expected it to be and I wouldn't be a slobbering mess before the end of the night. I turned around in time to stumble into the arms of a man, who smiled and greeted me in a sticky-sweet slur. He turned me around and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. I struggled against him, but he pulled me in close.

"Hey, it's okay," he breathed, following it up with. "You're pretty when you squirm."  
"Let go!" I exclaimed, breaking free in time to hear a girl scream from the top of the bus. I looked up and saw a guy holding her up, flashing her breasts to a howling crowd. The guy had his hand down her pants and grinding against her, despite her protests. I threw up a little in my mouth and took a step forward, fully intending to put a stop to it, when I took an elbow to the eye, and fell back into someone.

"Dick!" came the cry from behind me. I turned around just in time to have a fist connect with my cheek, just barely missing the bridge of my nose. I pushed the assailant away, trying to apologize at the same time, but he kept coming after me, fists swinging.  
"Fucking asshole!" he shouted.  
"I'm sorry! Stop!" I replied, bringing my hands up to cover my face. "Stop, please! I'm sorry!"  
"Hey!"

Before he could throw his next punch, a blur of black and green flew by me, and a guy appeared, decking the assailant so hard in the jaw he nearly knocked him to the ground. He turned around and grabbed me by the wrists, pulling me close and smiling as his bright ambers met my dark eyes.  
"Duck," he said, practically pulling me down with him as the enraged assailant threw himself at the guy behind us, effectively starting an entirely new brawl. With a laugh, my rescuer helped me to my feet and grinned, staying close as the brawl moved further away from us.

"You're Marco, right? From TWU?" he said, running a hand through his light brown hair, which I noticed was much much shorter in the back. He had a small silver stud in his lip and a hoop in his eyebrow. My eyes went wide as I realized he knew me. "We have Bio together."

I recognized him. He usually sat in the back of the lecture hall, and was always wearing the same black hoodie that he had on now. We'd never spoken before now, but sometimes we'd made brief eye contact when I walked in and took my seat. I was amazed he knew my name.  
"Y-yeah," I finally managed to answer him. "That's right. Hi."  
"I'm Jean," he told me. He drew out the "J" a little, giving the name a softer feel. French, possibly?  
"Thanks for saving me," I replied, feeling a blush creep over my cheeks under his bright-eyed stare. He had a nice smile.

"'Course," he said, letting my wrists slip until my hands fit into his. I tried not to blush deeper, and winced at the sting in my cheek instead. "Is my nose bleeding?" I asked him. Jean released one of my hands in order to inspect my face. "No, but damn if you're not getting a nice shiner right there." "Ow! Don't touch it!" I complained, trying to cover it up. I didn't want to picture how bad the shiner probably looked. "Sorry..."

A holler from somewhere in the crowd got our attention, as a few more couples decided to mate in front of the flaming trash in front of the bus. Some one else pulled out a can of spraypaint.  
"Oh, no, you wouldn't..." I begged. It made no difference. The boy sprayed right over the flames, graffitiing the bus with aerosol flames and laughing the whole while, while the crowd cheered him on in support. The people on top of the bus leaped to the safety of the ground as beer cans began being tossed to the flames and the sound system shorted out.

"We should get out of here," Jean suggested, gripping my hand tightly. I nodded in agreement. He pulled me into him, looking me dead in the eye and telling me to stay close and not to let go of him, before taking a step back into the swarm. I followed him, keeping my eyes -- eye. My right side was starting to swell shut -- on his back and on our joined hands. He seemed to know exactly how to move through the throngs of people without getting caught up or lost, or starting a fight.

Eventually we managed our way to the outskirts of the crowd and ducked into an alley about three blocks away from where the bus was burning. Jean stepped into a shop that had been broken into and convinced the traumatized owner to sell him an ice pack and case of beer without IDing him. I gratefully accepted the ice and pressed it tentatively to my face as he opened a can of beer and started sipping from it.  
"Why?" was all I asked him. He gave a laugh.  
"Why not? We're in the middle of a riot," he answered. I sighed.  
"I'd rather not be," I admitted. "How did you even manage to get us here in one piece?"  
"I'm actually a riot expert. I make sure to navigate myself through at least one decent one per week," he answered sarcastically. "We just got lucky, I guess. Most of the people in the middle of this are probably just as lost and confused as we are and aren't brave enough to try to break away."  
"This whole street is a nightmare," I commented. He nodded in response and took another drink.

"I'm actually kind of surprised to see you here, Marco. I didn't think riots were your thing."  
"I could say the same thing about you, Jean," I replied with a smile. He looked taken aback and looked away.  
"I just came to see how bad it was and got swept up. To be honest, I was locked in my room studying for most of the day. I didn't come out here until the school lost power."

I nodded.  
"My friends wanted to come to the meetup that started this whole thing. I was just tagging along," I told him. "When the fires started, they said they were going to help put them out and then we'd go back to campus. I haven't seen or heard from them since. I only ended up out there because I was looking for them."  
"They just up and ditched you like that?" Jean asked. "Damn."  
"They said they'd call to meet up," I defended. "They just never did. I probably should have just gone back to campus to wait, but I guess I'm not as smart as I pretend to be."  
"Hey, don't say that," Jean comforted. "You're plenty smart. I know for a fact you got a 100 on that last test."  
"Are you spying on me, Jean?" I teased. His bright eyes widened with horror.  
"N-no!" he denied vehemently. "Y-you're right in my way! I can barely see the class without looking over your shoulder."  
"How can that be when you sit five rows behind me? The lecture hall is amphitheater style."

Jean's look of sheer terror made me laugh. He shoved me and told me to shut up. I hugged my knees closer to my chest and smiled at him, and noticed that he was starting to blush and fussing with something in his mouth, poking it between his lips. The fact that he was chewing gum this whole time suddenly made his impressive intervention and rescue that much more smooth. And then I squinted and looked closer, because I had never seen a piece of black chewing gum before.

"What are you looking at?" Jean asked. The piece of gum disappeared. I blinked and looked up to meet his eye.  
"What's that in your mouth?" I asked him back. Jean blinked at me once, and then threw his head back and laughed. I frowned.  
"Jean..." I complained. He regained some form of composure and looked at me again.  
"You mean this?"

He stuck out his tongue, showing off a small black piercing protruding from it. My eyes widened with shock.  
"Where did that come from?" I cried, eying his other piercings and making a mental tally as I did. Jean laughed again.  
"Marco, I've had this since my sophomore year of high school."  
"I've never seen it before!"  
"And you've known me for _how_ long...?"

I stuttered a little over my words, realizing the error I'd made.  
"No! I-I mean... it's really nice, but... I didn't mean it like... I meant that I never-"  
"You've never seen a tongue ring before?" Jean guessed. I shut my mouth and nodded with a blush. Jean leaned forward, resting his cheek on his fist. "That's adorable."

I stifled a squeak of embarrassment and it came out as a hiccup, which caused Jean to laugh again and me to turn a mortifyingly deep shade of red. I was slowly becoming painfully aware of the fact that Jean was just... really... _God, he's hot._

And he _was._ His longer hair was dyed a lighter blond color while he'd left the back incredibly short and his natural brown, and I found the duality of it kind of endearing. The way his bright amber eyes lit up when he laughed, the way his sharp chin sloped into a slender neckline. His breastbone just barely peaked out from underneath his v neck T shirt, and despite his bulky black hoodie that had the familiar shabbiness of being worn every day from September to May, I could tell that Jean was thin with a solid layer of lean muscle, and long legs underneath his dark jeans. His long index finger circled the rim of the can of beer he was still holding, and I could see the condensation being swept under the skin. I gulped, trying to keep my eyes on his face instead of letting them wander down his body, and only half-noticed that he was doing the same.

 _But why would you want to stare at me?_ I wondered as a large silver truck puttered into view from the opposite side of the alley.  
 _What?_

"Um... Jean?" I asked, focusing my attention on the truck. My face paled when I noticed the blue and gold emblem printed on the side of it. Jean frowned as he saw the look on my face, turned to see what was happening, and jumped to his feet.

"Marco, get up," he ordered. I scrambled to my feet, trying to keep the ice pack steady on my face as I did. Maybe the police wouldn't arrest us for being here if they saw I was injured. As the police spilled out of the back, I saw Jean glance down at the six pack. There was no way to hide it out here, and we both had it on our breath.  
 _Oh, god, we're both gonna be arrested,_ was my next, petrified thought. One of the officers, fully decked out in bullet proof vest, helmet and riot shield, pointed us out. Jean pressed us both against the wall and held up his hands. I did the same with my free one.

"Can you help us? He's hurt," Jean asked. The officer didn't seem to hear him, and asked in a muffled voice from under the mask if we'd been drinking. Some of the others started to set themselves up right beside us, and a whimper escaped me. I'd never done anything in the remote realm of criminal in my entire life. I was only here because I was looking for my friends. And here I was on the brink of being arrested in a riot. The officer asked us again if we'd been drinking. Jean grabbed the hem of my shirt.

"Hey!" the officer shouted.  
I yelped as I was shoved unceremoniously back into the screaming crowd, knocking over some much taller men, who swore and probably would have hit me again if they too hadn't seen what was transpiring.

"Jean!" I yelled looking back in time to see Jean in the arms of the police officer with his face pressed against the brick, hands being cuffed behind his back. Our eyes met for less than a second before the taller men stepped forward, and I was consumed by the crowd.  
"Cops!" the cry went out. It started going around, and the people nearest began laughing, jeering, throwing beer cans and tiny pebbles at the officers and their riot shields as they materialized out of the alleyways. Something on fire went soaring over my head and clattered against one of the riot police's shields. My stomach sunk.

"Jean! Jean!" I cried, jumping up, trying to see him. I let the ice pack fall to the ground. "Ow! Hey! Stop!"  
The people around me were pushing and shoving to get by. The shouts were getting angrier and more violent as the partiers clashed with the police. I was finding myself being pushed further and further away from the alley.

 _Oh, God,_ I thought, _Jean got arrested because of me._

I was alone again, and at a complete loss for what to do, or where to go, and it wasn't until I heard the first _'ka-thunk'_ , followed by hissing, people screaming and running towards me, that I turned around again and found some motivation in me to move.

 _Tear Gas_ I realized with horror. _They're using tear gas on us!_

I turned to run just a moment too late, as a small band of gas victims came running at me, and knocked me to the ground. I curled up to avoid being trampled and the second I could roll myself over, I scrambled to my feet.

_Ka-thunk!_

I don't even remember hearing myself scream. I just remember feeling like my face was suddenly on fire, covering it with my hands and running, along with what must have been about four hundred people around me. I was sobbing, and the wounds on the left side of my face were burning so hard I thought it might evaporate away. I didn't dare open my eyes, and ended up running into people and walls, trying to wipe the acid tears away and only making things worse. 

_I'm gonna die,_ I thought. _I'm not going to make it out of here._

Tiny stones struck me in the face, and at least one of them was on fire. I rubbed myself against the wall in an attempt to put it out after I felt heat on my sleeve. Something behind me exploded, and I was knocked to my knees. I pulled myself up, using the wall for support, and decided to just give up there. I couldn't see, the ringing in my hears was so loud that I was certainly deaf. I had no idea where I was. I might as well just wait for the police to pick me up too. 

I didn't even fight it when a pair of hands just too close together to be normal grabbed my wrist and pulled me close. The same two hands grabbed my shoulder, and somewhere miles away, a voice was speaking to me, but I couldn't make out the words. I just went along with the tugs, expecting at some point to be shoved against a wall and handcuffed. 

It never happened. In my confusion, I reached for the pair of hands and latched onto the arm attached to one of them. The skin was soft, and from the fuzz on on side, it felt as though it had once been covered by a hoodie that had slipped off. I clung to the arm and felt a shoulder. The far-away voice seemed to be encouraging this, and urging me to come along. I obeyed, trying to stop the burning tears leaking from my eyes with the sleeve of the arm's T shirt. I stumbled over myself far more times than I should have, but the voice didn't seem to mind. We were running, and it was guiding me along as best it could amid the pushing, shoving, screaming stampede around us. I yelped and flinched every time a _'ka-thunk'_ sounded. With the constant level of stinging, burning pain on my face, I couldn't tell if I was running out of gas or into it. 

"--et's -o... re!" the voice urged, the arm yanking me hard to the right. I tripped on the first of what turned out to be a flight of stairs. I scrambled up them beside the arm, and felt a body brush past me as something else miles away exploded. 

And then it was quiet. The ringing sound in my ears was starting to ebb, and I could hear myself whimpering under my breath.

"Hey, come on," assured the voice, which had just been miles away was now right beside me. "Come here, you're gonna be fine."  
"Wh-what?" I asked, as I was led across what I could only assume by the sound our footsteps made was a hardwood floor. At some point we stepped onto linoleum, and I heard the sound of a faucet being turned on. Water running.

"Here," the voice said. "Marco, come on, we have to get the gas out."  
I only whimpered in response as the arm pulled me over to a counter, and pushed my hand into a stream of water. I didn't particularly want to open my eyes, knowing what would happen, but the voice was right. It had to come out.

I cried out the moment I blinked my eyes open, bringing water to them and splashing my face as much as possible. It felt like jumping into a refreshing pool after getting sunburn, only about a thousand times worse. The water was cool, and dripped relief down my stinging face, but where it missed burned even worse. After a few minutes, I managed to pull my face away from what I realized was a kitchen sink in an apartment that was definitely not mine, and leave my eyes open long enough to gauge my surroundings. My pounding heart began to steady some, and I felt my breath come back to me. 

"Feel better?"

I turned and yelped, clapping a hand to my chest.  
"Jean!"

He smiled at me, despite the fact that his wrists were still bound together in metal bracelets. His hoodie had shrugged off on his right shoulder, and was pooled around his elbow, showing off lines of a tattoo on his underarm. My mental tally unconsciously went up.  
"How...?"  
"The guy you went flying into grabbed the cop that cuffed me and decked him. He told me to run, so I did. And trust me, it's not easy to hop around a pair of handcuffs while trying to keep up with a stampede."  
"Did you get gassed to?" I asked, glancing down at the dampness around his collar. He averted his eyes and nodded. How he'd even managed to find me was a miracle.

I suddenly imagined him fitting his long legs over the handcuffs, hobbling along the street, and running into a cloud of tear gas; imagined him blinking past the pain and burning just long enough to see me clinging uselessly to the wall. It looked spectacularly similar to a scene out of an action film, and my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I looked away, trying to conceal my furious blushing.

"You didn't have to do all that for me," I told him. Jean grinned and stepped towards me, leaning on my shoulder with is hands and chin, giving me a cheeky grin.  
"What? And leave you all alone to fend for yourself? You forget I'm a riot expert. It's my job to rescue fledgling rioters from the chaos," he teased. I gave a weak laugh, trying to keep the butterflies in stomach down.  
"My hero," I conceded with a smile. He tilted his head to the side and glanced up at me. We stood there leaning against the counter in silence for a full minute, just staring at each other. Even though his eyes were red and watering still from being gassed, I couldn't help but find him attractive.

"Where are we?" I asked, suddenly remembering myself. Jean shrugged.  
"Some apartment on Trost Street," he answered. "I kicked the door in."  
 _"Jean!"_  
"Nobody's home!" Jean defended, as if this was a legitimate excuse for breaking and entering. "I had to get us off the street somehow. There was no way we were going to make it back to TWU with me in handcuffs and both of us with gas in our eyes. We can just wait out the riot here and then go back."  
"And what if the people who actually live here come back?!" I demanded. "You were already nearly arrested once because of me, I'd rather not put you in that position again."

Jean grew quiet and pulled away from me, his grin fading. My heart clenched. _Shit_. I hadn't meant to make him feel bad...

"I... didn't think about it like that," he said, averting his eyes. "I'm sorry."  
"It-it's okay!" I attempted, "I just don't want you to get in trouble for my sake... You've already rescued me twice now! What kind of friend would I be if I let you get-?"  
"What?"  
"What?"

I blinked once, wondering why he suddenly looked so stricken. Was that... was that a _blush_ creeping across his face?

"Jean?" I asked.  
"Did you just say that we're friends?" he asked. It took me longer than it should have to understand what he meant. I smiled as brightly as I could at him.  
"Well, you did save me twice from a riot, get yourself nearly arrested, and break into an apartment for me, and I think you're pretty cool, so yeah, we're friends."

He stared at me for a moment and then looked away, trying to hide the fact that his blush was growing.  
"Sorry I'm so shitty," he immediately apologized.  
"What? No you're not!"  
"All I do is get in trouble and occasionally make sarcastic remarks. I'm actually kind of a terrible person."  
"I don't think so."  
"You're too nice, Marco."

I grinned, and feeling a little churn of excitement, I grabbed the chain of Jean's handcuffs and pulled him into the next room with me, giggling at his adorable yelp of surprise. There was a sofa in there, near a window that faced another back-alley. I made myself comfortable on the faded navy cushions, pulling Jean next to me. He leaned his head back, listening to the roar of the crowd outside. We both winced every time a muffled 'ka-thunk' sounded, and the screams of the people that had been hit. Not wanting to let either of us dwell, I pulled at the chain and lifted his arms up.

"Um?"  
"What's this?" I asked, pointing at the tattoo lines snaking around his underarm. Jean snorted.  
"Don't tell me you've never seen a tattoo before, either," he chided.  
"N-no! I-" I stammered dropping the chain. Jean let his arms fall and started to laugh. " _I was asking what it was **of** , not--_"  
"St-stop _doing_ that!" he demanded. "It's t-oo cute!"

I could feel my whole face get unbearably hot. _He thinks I'm cute..._  
"If I could pull my sleeve back, I'd show you," he said after recomposing himself. "It's a wing. Sort of. It goes up my shoulder."  
"Didn't that hurt, under your arm like that?"  
" _Fuck_ yes!" Jean agreed, cringing. "It burned slightly less than that gas did. Worth it, though, in my opinion."  
"When'd you get it?"  
"The day I turned 18," he admitted with a large grin. "My dad almost killed me."

I smiled. After seeing him under pressure, it didn't surprise me that that he would do something so rebellious, and be so enormously proud of it.

"Just the one?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Jean leaned into the cushion and looked away.  
"Yeah, well... It's kind of corny, but I figured..."  
"... you figured?"  
"No, it's dumb," he refused. I slid closer to him and leaned in, trying to catch his eye. He glared, and I prodded him with my elbow, silently pestering him for an explanation. He stared at me for a minute, searching my eyes for some hint of mockery, I supposed. There was none, I was just curious. He sighed.

"I guess I figured that if I met the... right person... they could get.... the other one...." he admitted, his voice getting smaller as he reached the end of the sentence. I smiled and cocked my head, trying to get a better look at it.  
"That's cute, Jean," I told him. "That sounds like something I would do~"

He made a series of incoherent stammerings and choked on his breath. I giggled and stretched myself out just in time for something to strike the glass behind us. We both jumped and turned, but the window remained intact. The roar of the crowd grew steadily. The rioters were still fighting back with everything they had. Jean had been smart to get us off the street when he did.  
"How long do you think it'll take to die down?" I asked, not liking the faint glow of several more car and trash can fires in the distance. Jean clenched his fists.  
"Probably a few hours," he guessed. I turned back around and did my best to smile.  
"Well then, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather kill a few hours with."

Jean blushed again and smiled back.  
"Even though we're trapped in a stranger's apartment and I'm in handcuffs?"  
" _Especially_ because we're trapped in a strangers apartment and you're in handcuffs."

He laughed so naturally at that, in a genuine way that no one ever did to a lame joke like that. I felt butterflies tremble in my stomach, hardly able to believe what was happening. It was like a scene from one of those sappy rom-coms my mother liked to watch. Here I'd only known him for a couple of hours at the most, and I was already biting my lip and curling my hands into fists, repressing feelings that shouldn't rationally exist. But of course, since when is a crush ever a rational thing?  
 _And he thinks I'm cute._

"What should we do?" he asked. I hesitated to answer. There was no power, so we couldn't turn on the television. Besides, I wasn't too keen on touching things that weren't mine. Even finding something to eat was questionable, even though I'd gone pretty much all day without eating anything.  
"I don't know. I'm kind of tired," I finally answered. Jean cocked his head to the side for a moment, looked out the window at the waves of people, and then back at me.  
"Do you want to sleep?"  
"What?"  
"Do you want to sleep? You said you're tired. You should take a nap."  
"Where exactly am I supposed to do that?"  
"Here seems as good as any other place, doesn't it?"  
"I'd hate to kick you off," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral. Jean refused to have any of that. He scooted up right beside me, lifted his bound wrists and looped them around my head. I wondered idly if he could tell that aside from my face, my entire body had warmed up to a ridiculous degree. I hesitated, wondering if he was getting at what my irrational, butterfly quaking stomach was hoping he was. Was he, potentially, in the least homosexual way possible, suggesting that I take a nap on him? With that endearing, tiny smile still plastered on his face???

"Come on," he insisted. "What's a little homo between friends?"

Even he couldn't hide the fact that we both had equally red-faced and warm. Even though I was almost positive he could feel my heart pounding against my rib cage, he pulled me forward and into his chest until we were both lying down with our feet dangling off the edge of the sofa. I remained stiff for what had to be a whole minute, and only tensed further when I felt his hands move on my back. He lightly carded a few fingers through the hair on the back of my neck. I tried to make myself relax, and pretended not to notice his gentle touches. Or at least, give him the impression that I didn't mind, which I didn't. I let my eyes slide shut and splayed out one of my hands across his chest, taking a small amount of joy in the fact that I could hear his heartbeat flutter.

 _He's right,_ I convinced myself, relaxing further into his body and his touches. _What's a little homo between friends?_

 _I want to kiss him,_ was the last thought I had before fading out of consciousness.

~*~

"Marco?"  
"mm...?"  
"Marco, hey, wake up!"

I blinked a few times into the darkness, still not fully aware of my surroundings, but finding myself very warm and comfortable on top of the most well sculpted chest and shoulders I'd ever- _What??!?!?_

"I'm awake!" I exclaimed suddenly, jolting upright. Jean yelped as he was pulled up with me by the chain. I didn't begin to process what was happening until my head stopped spinning and I felt a soft, moist pressure on my mouth.

Jean was kissing me.

We were kissing.

I was straddling him and our mouths were pressed together. And they stayed pressed together for what seemed like forever.

_God bless handcuffs._

"I-I'm sorry," I apologized after we finally broke apart, my cheeks once again flaming. "I... wasn't thinking."  
Jean, whose entire face had turned a deep shade of red, opened his mouth and attempted to string together enough of a coherent thought to respond, but seemed relatively unable to do this as a result of how incredibly flustered he was.

I couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Jean?" I asked. "Are you okay?"  
"Yeah," he said, his voice cracking a little at the end of the word. "I wasn't expecting that."  
"I'm sorry..."  
"It's okay."  
I almost said 'you have really soft lips,' but stopped myself, not entirely willing to dig us into a larger hole.  
"Do you want to untangle yourself?" is what I asked instead.  
"When my brain starts functioning again," Jean replied. I wasn't alert enough to analyze what that possibly meant. We stayed frozen like that for a minute, me practically sitting on him, watching the blush fade from his face, and him practically dangling from the handcuffs around my neck. He finally took a deep breath and unhinged the metal from my skin, leaning back into the cushion and pulling his wrists close to the spot where my head had just been. I sat up and moved off of him, trying to piece back together our mutual comfort level.

"Wh-what time is it?" I asked, moving away from our moment of intimacy, despite the fact that it was replaying over and over in my head. Jean looked out the window.  
"Almost 11," he answered. "It quieted down about an hour after you fell asleep. I guess I must have too, because the power was still out when I last looked."

He gestured over to the television set across the room. A small red indicator light had flicked on, as well as a DVD player beneath it, displaying the time proudly on its screen: 10:52 pm.  
"Anybody home?" I wondered, suddenly nervous. Jean shrugged.  
"If they are, they didn't bother us. Let's get out of here."

I nodded and got to my feet, stretching as I did, and feeling Jean's eyes on my back. When I turned around to look at him, he was digging through his pockets as best he could. Before I could ask, he'd managed to fish out his wallet.  
"What are you doing?" I asked as he pulled out every last remaining dollar.  
"I broke the lock when I kicked the door in. I might as well pay for it, right? Do you think fifty is enough?"  
"No, but it's all you've got," I replied, my heart warming at the honest gesture. "I guess you could leave a note."  
"You say that like I can write like this," he grumbled, dropping the money on the coffee table and stowing his wallet away. I laughed and went on the hunt for a pen and paper. After locating a notepad and working pen (they had a cup full of about a million pens, and over half of them were dead), I scribbled out a short note apologizing for the lock. I showed it to Jean.

"Who writes in cursive anymore?" he scoffed. I gave him a look.  
"I do."  
"Show off," he said, making an attempt at crossing his arms, but not making it very far. "I'm surprised I can read it."  
"Is it that bad?" I asked with a pout.  
"No, I'm just illiterate," Jean reassured. "You have nice handwriting."

I almost kissed him again.

After sticking the note somewhere the owners were sure to find it, Jean made his way to the door. He eased it open and took a peak outside.  
"How's it look?"  
"Empty. Let's go."

Trost Street had been demolished. Under the newly lit street lamps, we could see paper and beer cans littered over nearly every inch of the pavement. Trash fires here and there were still smoldering and sprinkling the sidewalks with embers. A shroud of smoke and residual tear gas hung in the air. The stench of sweat, vomit and beer permeated the air. Graffiti peppered the walls and streets. Jean and I covered our faces with sleeves and shirt collars as we took off running down the sidewalk, trying to avoid lights, broken glass, police and anyone else who might be lurking around at this time of the night.

It took us half an hour to make it back to TWU. We both breathed a heavy sigh of relief as we passed onto campus grounds. We were protected here. Safe.  
"Remind me never to go out into a riot again," Jean said.  
"Only if you remind me as well," I agreed. "Which building are you in?"  
"Rose, you?"  
"Oh, I'm in Sina."  
"What? You're joking! I thought only upperclassmen could live there!"  
"That's what I thought too, but then I applied and they gave me a single on the first floor."  
"You are so fucking lucky..." Jean groaned. I gave him a sheepish smile and prodded him in the direction of Rose Hall. Those handcuffs were probably getting uncomfortable, and I knew for a fact I didn't have anything useful in my room. Maybe someone in his building could help him out.

"Uh, just so you know," Jean cautioned as we approached the building, "my friends are a little... weird. Just... take what they say with a grain of salt. If they're even around."  
"Whatever you say, Jean," I complied, holding the door open for him. The Hall was relatively quiet on the first floor. Jean looked around for anyone before moving into the common area and making a dash for the stairs. I giggled and strode along behind him.

"The way you're acting, it's like you don't want to be found."  
"Shhhh!" Jean demanded as a voice echoed through the stairwell. Jean froze up and paled. "Shit."

"Jean?!" the voice called as a shorter guy with a shaved head rounded the corner. "Holy shit! Where have you been all day?!"  
"None of your business," Jean retorted, glancing over his shoulder and pointedly not turning around.  
"You look like Hell," the guy commented.  
"Thanks, I feel worse."  
"No, seriously, where have you been? Sasha and I came to your room to see if you wanted to grab dinner and you were MIA."  
"Connie..!" Jean protested as his friend (Connie?) grabbed him by the arm and tried to turn him around. Jean tripped over himself and I reached out to steady him as he turned over, giving Connie a fantastic view of the metal bracelets on his wrists.

"Oh. Oh my God," Connie said, looking like he was trying very hard to suppress a laughing fit. Jean glared at him.  
"Say _one word_ , Connie..."  
"You _actually_ went!" Connie exclaimed, bursting into hysterics. "You went down to Trost street! In the middle of a fucking riot!"  
"Jean..?" I asked.  
"Don't," he pleaded. I pat his shoulder reassuringly.

"Jesus Christ!" Connie wheezed. "Unbelievable! You got arrested! JEAN KIRSCHTEIN GOT ARRESTED DURING A RIOT."  
"Thanks for announcing it to the whole fucking building," Jean grumbled. "Look can you help me get these things off? I know you pick the lock on Sasha's door every other week."  
"Yeah, yeah, sure, just... just let me have a moment. Oh this is so good. I should take a picture!"  
"Don't you _dare_!"

"Jean..." I interrupted, trying to calm him down. Connie stopped laughing at once and looked me over, raising an eyebrow in Jean's direction. I pretended not to notice. "Maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private?"  
"Yeah," Jean agreed. "Come on, we can crash in my room for a little bit. This is Connie, by the way. My roommate."  
"What happened to you?" Connie asked with curiosity, pointing at my face.  
"Ah... I got elbowed in the face by accident and then accidentally started a fight and accidentally got punched in the face."  
"That's a whole lot of accidents," Connie replied.  
"I'm Marco," I greeted with a smile. "Marco Bodt. Jean and I ran into each other on Trost street."

Connie suddenly went bug-eyed and grinned at Jean, who glared in response.  
"Holy shit," was all he said. I blinked in confusion. Jean glowered at Connie.  
"Connie, I _swear_ -!"  
"Damn, we can't take you _anywhere_ , can we, Jean?" Connie teased. He snickered under his breath and turned to me. "So _you're_ the one Jean's got a giant boner for?"

My 'what?' was drowned out by Jean's moan of frustration. I felt my cheeks grow hot again as my eyes flicked between Jean and Connie.  
"I mean, I get it," Connie said, turning away with a shrug and starting up the stairs. "You're pretty decent. Got the Jaw of Zeus on you and everything. Plus those cute freckles? Damn, how'd you even manage that?"  
"I'm gonna murder you, Springer!" Jean cried. Connie cackled and rounded the banister.

"Now, now, don't be like that!" Connie chided with a condescending finger wag. "Honestly, Jean, you might want to be a little nicer to the guy upon whom your freedom rests."  
"When I get out of these..."  
"You mean _if_ you get out of those~"  
" _Connie_!"  
"Alright, alright, hurry up."

I let myself laugh a little and followed Jean up the staircase, I nudged his side and smiled, trying to make him look less miserable.  
"Please don't laugh at me," he begged.  
"Why would I do that?"  
"Because I'm a loser with weird friends," he sighed. "I'm sorry about Connie..."  
"You're not a loser, Jean," I told him. "And Connie seems like a fun guy. When he's not actively trying to get on your nerves."  
"Which is _all the time_ ," he assured me. I laughed again and wrung my hands out behind my back, trying to find the best way to word what I wanted to say next.

"Should I move?" I finally asked. Jean blinked at me.  
"Huh?"  
"In bio," I explained. "Should I move my seat? If I'm right in your way..."  
"N-no! I.. I mean.. what?!" Jean stammered. I smiled at him. "No, you're... fine... I just..."  
"Are you sure you won't get distracted?"  
" _Marco_!"  
"I'm sorry," I said with a giggle. "You're cute, Jean."

Another series of incoherent, flustered stammering fell out of his mouth as I turned into the hallway. Connie was waiting impatiently in his and Jean's doorway with a pair of bobby pins in his hands.  
"Come _on_ , Kirschtein! You wanna get out of those cuffs or what?!" he demanded. Jean hurried me into the room and slammed the door shut before anyone could look out into the hallway to see what Connie meant.

It took Connie all of ten seconds to pick the handcuffs open. Jean breathed a sigh of relief when he finally regained full use of his arms, and took advantage of his reclaimed mobility by pushing Connie into his bed and throwing a pillow at him.  
"Fuck you!" Connie spat.  
"That's for spilling," Jean said triumphantly.  
"I should have left them on," Connie grumbled.  
"That might be a bit more inconvenient then you think it is," I advised, making myself comfortable next to Jean.

The door flew open, and a brunette girl came flying into the room with a cell phone in one hand and a cup of ramen in the other.

"Jean!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at him and hugging him into her chest. "Are you okay? Connie told me you got _arrested_?!"  
"He came in wearing handcuffs," Connie snorted, pointing to them on Jean's desk. The girl shrieked.  
"What the _Hell_ , Jean!"  
"I didn't do it on _purpose!_ " Jean defended himself. "It was a riot! People were getting arrested left and right! I just happened to be the first one they saw."  
"Oh my God," the girl moaned before catching sight of me. "Who are you?"  
"Jean's mancrush," Connie answered before I could introduce myself. I felt Jean stiffen beside me and could already tell he was blushing. 

"I'm Marco," I said with a smile, discretely reaching for Jean's hand and squeezing it.  
"Sasha," she responded. Then she eyed Jean and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like 'is he really?' Jean buried his face in his knees.

"So what actually happened to your face?" Connie asked, sitting up.  
"Why? Is it really bad?"  
"Not so much anymore," Jean said quietly. "The ice helped a little. But it's still pretty bad."  
"Are we gonna get a story or what?" Sasha demanded, sitting herself cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "Sounds like it's a good one."

I spent the next half hour recounting the events leading up to us being curled up in Jean and Connie's room at 12:30 am on a Monday morning. Sasha cheered at when I told her how Jean had come to my rescue ("That's our boy! Way to give 'em Hell, Jean!"), and they both winced when I told them about getting gassed. They laughed after hearing Jean had broken us into an apartment, and I heard a rather indiscreet 'gay' in Connie's raucous coughing fit after I told them how Jean had pulled me on top of him for a four-and-a-half-hour nap.

"Damn, that's a story to tell the kids," Connie whistled once I'd finished. I nodded in agreement and leaned into Jean a little. I had to force myself not to get too comfortable there. I still had to walk all the way back to my dorm.

"I should probably go," I said. "It's really late."  
"You could always stay here," Connie suggested. "I'm sure Jean wouldn't mind."  
"Th-that's okay!" I said before Jean could retort, "I'd really hate to intrude, and I have to get up kind of early for class."  
"Aww," Sasha frowned, crossing her arms. "Maybe next time, then."

_Next time?_

"I'll walk you out," Jean suggested hurriedly before anyone had much more time to dwell on it. He pulled me off the bed and pushed me towards the door.  
"Get a room!" Connie exclaimed after us. Jean whirled around and flipped him off, causing him and Sasha both to burst out laughing.

"I am so sorry," Jean apologized once we were well out of earshot. He was covering up his bright red face with one hand. "They're such assholes."  
"It's okay. I think they're pretty cool," I reassured him.  
"Still, they shouldn't be... I mean... I don't really want to make you uncomfortable..."  
"Jean, I'm not uncomfortable," I said, pulling his hand away from his face. He didn't look too convinced.  
"Are you sure? Because I really-"  
"Jean," I cut him off, "I promise. I'm about as far away from uncomfortable as I can possibly be."

I let those words hang there, out in the open for him. His bright, amber eyes widened and then pulled away from me. Hands plunged into pockets and teeth sunk discretely into lips as we stood there in the doorway of Rose Hall, facing each other in complete silence. After a moment, one of Jean's hands reached up and rubbed at the back of his two-toned hair. My heart fluttered.

"I really like you," he said softly, not meeting my eyes. His hands returned to his pockets. "I mean, you know, in case you haven't already picked that up..."  
I smiled at him and nodded, not quite sure how else to respond.  
"I mean, I totally get it if you don't... I mean... You only just met me and everything, and I--"

I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I stepped forward before he could finish and cut him off with a kiss. He leaned into me, hands gripping at my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, the heat of it drawing me in close. We stayed there like that, in the doorway, for a time, before breaking away quietly. Not even bothering to hide the blush on my face, I let my arms fall to my sides, and took a step back.

"You have really soft lips," I told him. He stared at me, his face growing redder by the second. Unsure of what else to say or do, I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket and stepped out the door onto the walkway.  
"Good night, Jean."  
"I-yeah, g'night."

I turned away from him, finally, and smiled to myself as I heard the door shut behind me.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God it's 25 pages long what have I done.
> 
> I'm sorry it's so long ;;; that was definitely not the intent.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys all enjoy! Comments are always welcome =)


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